Nate and Olivia
by messy heart
Summary: Nate and Olivia are best friends. They're also both five years old. Oh, and they have this plan to get their parents together. But Sam and Freddie might have something to say about that.
1. Chapter One: Rainy Days and Mondays

**Chapter 1: Rainy Days and Mondays**

The last time they saw each other was on a rainy Monday morning.

Sam watched as the flower she had just let go land on top of her best friend's coffin. She stared at it for a long while, the soft white lily against the cold hard mahogany, until she could feel her husband, Philip, tug on her hand to urge her to move aside for the others who wished to do the same.

She looked up then, taking in _his_ bloodshot eyes and his arms wrapped tightly around a beautiful bundle of baby boy. The sight of him made her clutch her own overgrown belly. Just a few weeks ago, they were all excited at the prospect of being parents. But now...

The compulsion to propel herself against him, hug him, and comfort him was almost unbearable. But something in his eyes stopped her and begged her not to come closer. She knew then that he was struggling to be strong, just as she was, and that even the tiniest thing could break that fragile string that served as a dam that held all his emotions in. She offered him a nod instead and when he nodded back, she knew that it was enough.

"Goodbye, Carly," she whispered, looking up at the sky, hoping that her best friend could hear her. "I'll miss you."

That was five years ago and things have changed greatly since then.

For one thing, Philip has managed to append 'ex' to the beginning of his status as husband three-and-a-half years ago by being a miserable cheating fool. For another, there's Libby. Olivia Carlota is Sam's delightful and already rather impetuous five-year-old daughter. She's the splitting image of Sam, all rebellious blonde curls, mischievous blue eyes and a curious penchant for pork products.

If someone told her ten years ago that she'd be a single mother at twenty-nine, a nearby hospital would likely have one less bed vacant. But now, Sam can't imagine having her life any other way. She has a job that suited her just fine (c'mon, as a food writer she gets _paid_ to eat! How sweet is that?), a nice apartment (care of her otherwise useless ex-husband), and a sweet little girl. Who, at the moment, is being quite the pain.

"Do I really gotta go, momma?"

Sam tries her best not to appear amused as the blonde head burrows farther beneath the purple duvet. "Yes, you really gotta go, Libby," she replies, poking her daughter through the covers. "Get your tiny butt out of bed. If you're not dressed and downstairs by the time I'm done cooking breakfast, I'm eating it all."

"Bacon?"

"What else?"

The temptation proves too strong for Libby as she peers up at her mother. "Pancakes, too?"

"Of course," Sam says as evenly as possible, trying desperately to keep from laughing at Libby's forehead now scrunched up as she ponders such an important decision.

"Girly Cow DVD marathon when I get home?"

"Only if you stop wearing your rubber boots to bed." To emphasize her point, she pulls the heavy duvet from the bed to reveal the little girl's shiny red rubber boots.

"But I gotta wear 'em to school, momma! It's the first day of school and I gotta make a good expression!"

Sam chuckles as she gently pulls Libby to a sitting position. "Okay, okay. The boots can come to school. But I'm pretty sure the right word is impression, though, and not expression."

"Hey hey hey!" Libby's face is of pure exasperation and, well, disgust. "You know I don't like word lessons in the morning, momma!"

"Sometimes I wish you weren't so much like me."

The phone rings and after giving Libby a do-as-I-say-or-else look, she leaves her daughter's room to answer it.

"Good morning, Samantha! How's the granddaughter?"

"Making a mess of her closet, trying to figure out what goes best with her red boots?" Sam cradles the wireless phone with her shoulder as she takes out the ingredients she needs for breakfast. She makes a mental note of needing to stop by the grocery store after picking Libby up from school.

Pam Puckett chuckles from the other end of the line. "My money's on the cowboy outfit."

"Undoubtedly," Sam answers with a grin of her own as she scoops out flour into a ceramic bowl for her pancake batter.

Whatever ill-feelings that the mother and daughter had between them before had come to a stop once Sam decided that she was going to be a responsible adult about the same time that her mother did. "I know we said we'd try, way back when, but we never really did. I don't want the time to come when it would be too late to fix things between us," Pam had told her daughter, a few months before Sam was set to graduate from high school. Sam was going places, she realized, and those places could be very-very-far-away-never-to-be-heard-from-again type of places if she didn't do something about it. As a result, Pam has become a precious source of endless support. Through the pregnancy and difficult delivery to the messy divorce, Sam's mother always stood by her side (and may have kneed a certain ex-husband's junk when the occasion called for it).

They spend the next several minutes talking about Melanie's recent engagement and how her fiancé has his work cut out for him. Puckett women should have some sort of warning sign. Dangerous. May result in brain damage. And groin damage.

"She wants me to be the maid-of-honor, mother. I'm not so sure having a divorcee for a maid-of-honor is a good idea," Sam says, rolling her eyes as she plates up the bacon and pancakes, setting them down on the cozy breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen. "Also, I don't need a fortune teller to know that she is going to drive me nuts with the wedding planning. I'll help with the food, though. I mean, _that_ I know. But picking between taffeta and chiffon and—" She stops in mid-sentence when she catches sight of a worn cowboy hat first and the rest of Libby encased in a denim skirt, red plaid shirt and a leather vest with a bit of fringe on the front. "Well, howdy, partner. You wanna talk to gramma so she can quit pestering me about Auntie Mel's wedding?"

Libby reaches out for the phone, eager for a chance to talk her grandmother's ear off. "Imma start kindergarten today, gramma!" she exclaims cheerfully into the mouthpiece. She listens for a moment before answering, "Yeah, I'm wearing the cowboy outfit you gave me and momma's givin' me the 'Oh no, not again' look."

* * *

><p>"Libby fair well on her first day of kindergarten?"<p>

Sam raises her right index finger, a sign that she needs a moment to savor the last succulent piece of lamb in her mouth before answering her friend and fellow writer, Danielle Parker. The feisty redhead has been a dear friend since Sam began working at The Sophisticate, a Seattle-based lifestyle magazine, soon after college. Although almost six years her senior, she and Dani fell into an easy friendship, bonded together by a love of horrible B-movies, food and western bars.

"Still no luck with the rubber boots," Sam informs Dani after taking a sip of water, "and aside from the fact that she took around fifteen minutes to debate the merits of brushing her teeth, it was a relatively painless first day. But, we'll see what happens when I pick her up in a bit."

"Pity. I was counting on hearing that one of your pieces of furniture managed to 'spontaneously combust' again."

"Stop using my Libby stories to make you feel better about yourself." Sam pokes her friend's hand with her fork as she says this. "My daughter is awesome! Yes, she's a little excitable at times but her behavior is perfectly normal for a five-year-old!"

The two friends share a look before immediately bursting with laughter.

"She's a sweet kid, though," Dani assures Sam, "but I'm pretty sure that her old preschool teacher is relieved that she's moved onto kindergarten. Anyway, did you give any thought to going on a date with my cousin Ed? He'll be visiting Seattle soonish and..."

The suggestion hangs half-completed in air due to Sam fixing her friend with her infamous death stare. "Dani, I told you that I'll be ready _when_ I'm ready and _if _and when that day comes, you'll be the first to know."

"You've been telling me that for the past three years."

"That's because I have yet to be ready in the past three years." Sam sighs and shakes her head as she writes down some last minute notes in her notebook before signaling the waiter for their check. "Listen, I know you mean well with all the attempts at fixing me up with your friend/cousin/neighbor/butcher but dating just isn't a priority right now. My family is. My career is."

"It doesn't have to be a priority, you know."

And Sam can't miss the pointed look on Dani's face even if she tries. So she decides to ignore it, pulling out her wallet from her purse—a move not lost on her friend.

"I know that Philip did a number on you," Dani tries again, despite knowing that she's treading in dangerous waters with the topic.

"_Men_ did a number on me, Dani." The words are spat out, loaded with venom. "It's not just Philip. It's my dad who walked out on us when I was eight. The college professor who made a pass at me. My fish, Timmy, who died after just three days! And that nub Fre—" Sam stops short, her heart beating hard against her chest. Fortunately, the waiter arrives with their bill and she takes her time as she pulls out her trusty company-issued credit card. She feels her friend's eyes on her the entire time and when the waiter leaves to charge their meal Sam has no choice but to meet her gaze.

"You have to admit, the goldfish thing is pushing it."

"I loved Timmy with all of my ten-year-old heart!" Sam manages a faint smile before stuffing her belongings into her purse except for her keys which she clutches in her hand. "Come on, I'll drop you off wherever you need to go before I pick Olivia up from school."

"Fine, fine," Dani relents, slinging her own bag over her shoulder as they leave the restaurant. Sam is fortunate that her friend knows when to back off.

She's not as violent as she once was so shutting people up is a tad more difficult than before. (Plus, now that she's older, and as an 'adult' legal issues certainly come into play and the divorce has turned her off of them altogether.)

Half an hour later and Sam is biting back several expletives. Apparently, she wasn't the only anxious parent with the intention of arriving early because there isn't a single available parking space within a two block radius of the school and it's seriously pissing her off. Unwilling to waste any more time than is necessary, she gives in and parks her car an unforgivable three blocks away from the school. Of course, she thought it would be prudent to wear her new navy suede pumps today. Of course, they have yet to be broken in. Of course. But she's lucky like that. Hence having to park somewhere in the vicinity of Timbuktu just to pick up her daughter.

"How many kids are in this school?" Sam huffs as she makes the painful trek to fetch Libby the cowgirl.

She will never admit it out loud but the rows of sports cars and unnecessarily large SUVs that mark the way to the school kind of intimidated the hell out of her beat up Prius. She and Libby were lucky to have gotten into such a prestigious kindergarten. At least, that's what she been told. The school came highly recommended by Spencer's wife, April, who works as a teacher at the school. The application process was quite stringent, administering test upon test and attending interview upon interview. Sam was close to pulling the plug on the whole ordeal (because her and her daughter's sanity were too high a price to pay to get into some school) but they finally received word of Libby's acceptance. Sure, it costs an arm and a leg. But it costs _Phil_ an arm and a leg and that's all right with Sam.

By the time Sam finds herself standing in front of the brick building that serves as Cedar Peaks Academy, she's also trying not to limp, although she's pretty certain that the pinky toe on her right foot has given up and _died_. She adjusts her scarf in an attempt to look somewhat presentable. While she wouldn't normally care, her daughter does deserve some effort. As she smooths the wrinkles in her trousers, she casts what are, hopefully, surreptitious glances at the other parents who are also visibly nervous at the prospect of their kids' first day not having went well. One mother is carefully wringing her hands, wrapping those white-knuckled fingers around a piteous-looking handkerchief.

Huh. People still use those things?

The imposing front doors are suddenly flung open and a sea of kids are let loose upon the world like a rainbow-colored waterfall. Just when Sam thinks that it'll take her forever to locate her kid in the throngs of children, she spots a cowboy hat attached to rest of her daughter's person.

"Olivia!" she cries of the noise of reunited parents and children. Waving her hand in the air, Sam weaves her way through the crowd until she has the laughing five-year-old in her arms. "How was school, sweetie?"

"It was the best! Everyone liked my boots, but my teacher Miss Young, made me take off my hat. She said I can only wear it when we're not having lessons." The kindergartner pouts in the middle of her whine before continuing, "But we have lessons _all_ the time!"

Yup. A chip off the ol' Puckett block.

"Yep, learning is..." She honestly doesn't know what to tell her kid in order to convince her that it's fun. Around them, the crowd is quickly thinning as parents haul their kids back to their kids."Hey, why don't we go say hi to Auntie April?"

Libby nods enthusiastically, making her hat fall further over her eyes. "Yeah yeah yeah! Oh oh oh! Momma! You gotta meet my best friend!" She quickly grasps her mother's hand tightly, pulling her along before Sam can even react. They stop near the entrance to the school in front of a young boy in chinos and a dark blue sweater vest over what looks to be a pristine white button-down shirt. His brown hair is impeccably combed, making one wonder what he did for recess if not play and get dirty with the other kids. Standing beside her daughter, the kid looks like a fifty-year-old librarian.

Sam bites on her lower lip to keep from laughing when Libby nudges the kid none too gently. The pint-size cowgirl whispers something in her friend's ear to which the pint-size librarian whispers back.

"You must be Olivia's best friend." Sam crouches down low, bringing her down to their height. It's then that she notices the big brown eyes looking up at her with unshed tears. Her heart practically leaps out of her chest as it goes out to the boy. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"He says his daddy's not here yet and he's scared that he maybe his daddy forgot." Libby frowns as if the notion didn't sit well with her. "You won't ever forget me, will ya momma?"

"'Course not, Libby."

Seemingly satisfied with her mother's answer, Libby wraps a comforting arm around her friend. "We gotta help Nate find his daddy!"

While her daughter is already prepared to play the staunch defender, Sam's a little more practical. Basic information first, supermom action later. "Nate? Is that your name?" She receives a nod for an answer. "What's your daddy's name?"

"Daddies have names?" Libby asks, the confusion obvious on her tiny face.

"Everyone has a name, Olivia," Nate answers in Sam's place. "Even grandmas have names."

"Hey hey hey! No calling me Olivia! Only Puckett women can call me Olivia—"

Sam sighs. "Olivia," she warns her daughter. An argument is the last thing that will help the situation at hand.

"See?"

"Well, my grandma calls me Nathaniel. Is it the same thing?"

Libby nods, pleased as punch that her new best friend has finally seen the light. And just like that, all is well between the two kindergarteners. Much to Sam's consternation.

"Okay, Nate or Nathaniel or whatever, we should probably head inside and look for your teacher—"

"Miss Young," Libby supplies helpfully.

Sam smiles and nods at her daughter. "Right, so... Let's go!" She holds her hand out to the little boy, her other hand already occupied by the tiny fingers of her daughter. Nate gives her a grateful smile as he slips his hand into her own. It's a miracle that they've finally achieved some momentum in finding a solution but the momentum suddenly comes to a halt when Nate refuses to budge and pries his hand from hers.

"Daddy!" he shouts as he turns completely and away from Sam then breaks into a sudden run.

Relieved that the poor kid's finally found his dad, Sam turns around to check on Libby's new best friend one last time. Only to have the wind knocked out of her.

Daddies do have names, just like Nate said. And his father's name is Freddie Benson.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I've wanted to write fanfiction for iCarly for a long while now and decided to wait until Seddie actually became canon. Although, I guess we don't know how things will turn out from how iOMG left things hanging, I couldn't really help myself. I do hope that you enjoyed the story so far. I'm crossing my fingers and eyes for reviews!

Also, chances are the rating of this fic will change as smut will make an appearance eventually.


	2. Chapter Two: Time Takes Its Crazy Toll

**Chapter Two: Time Takes Its Crazy Toll**

She knows she probably looks like a moron with her mouth open wide, jaw having dropped to the floor. But she's in good company since Freddie's pretty much looking the same way. Possibly worse. Hopefully, worse. Because the high-schooler-Sam in her suddenly kicks in and she seriously wants to one-up the guy she hasn't seen in forever.

Libby's tugging on her hand and she knows that the kids are getting a little nervous that neither one of the adults have made a move nor a sound since they locked eyes. Except, what does one say?

"Sam?" he says softly, as soft as his eyes.

Her heart breaks a little because she hasn't heard his voice in a long time. Hasn't heard him say her name in too long. She opens her mouth and before she knows what to say, but something in her head clicks with the force of a punch to the gut and it forces her to her knees in front of the rather perplexed five-year-old boy. "Oh my god..." she gasps and the confusion on Nate's face turns into surprise when Sam has both her hands on each of his cheeks. "This is _Nate, _Freddie! _Nate..._"

Then after one realization comes the next one and the one after that. Suddenly she's looking at the little boy with new and wiser eyes. It's Freddie's little mouth and Carly's brown eyes staring back at her curiously and her heart breaks a little more because she should have known this little boy from when he was a baby. She missed out five years of being Auntie Sam and getting to spoil the kid silly.

"Momma." Libby's voice cuts through her thoughts and the tugging resumes, but this time on the back of her blouse.

But Sam can't get enough of Nate. _Nate_. Carly's little boy. So really, she can't be blamed when the tears start to fall or when she pulls Nate into a tight hug. When she feels his tiny arms go tight around her, her heart doesn't just break. It shatters completely.

"I'm your Auntie Sam," she tells him and she chuckles when she feels him nod. She knows then that she's just head-over-heels for this boy.

"Sam," Freddie says again and she knows that she's gotta let go.

It takes her a few moments, though. There are tears and snot (because she's such a toddler sometimes) to wipe and her heart beat to calm. With shaky knees, she makes it onto her feet and she tries her best not to start crying again when she hears her daughter assure her best friend that her mother is not, in fact, crazy. Promise.

It's sort of blur what happens next. Libby will inform her later that it was "really funny, momma, but kinda scary, too" and also make her feel guilty about her daughter possibly losing a friend over what transpired. Apparently, she pushed Fredward Benson.

In fact, she kept pushing him until he fell on his a**—**butt. He fell on his butt.

She remembers towering over him, though. Yeah, she remembers that part because she was trying her hardest not to kick him between his legs.

"Sam, what the hell?" he whines and it's like they're teenagers all over again. Except then she did it mostly for fun and now? Now, she's just furious.

She points an intimidating finger at him (or might not have been intimidating at all. Again, things where kind of a blur.) and responds in a low voice. "You're a... a... _You_, Fredward Benson,_ are_..."

The difficult thing about being a parent is how careful you need to be with the words you use. Seeing as how impressionable children are, cursing is out of the question. And that just infuriates Sam further. It's evident, though, that Freddie (aka newly-acquired archnemesis) realizes her predicament and finds it funny. In fact, he finds it funny enough to laugh.

At her. Sam Puckett.

Oh, hell no.

"Five years," she spats and he automatically shuts up. Good. Because that's really the one thing she wants to say and reiterates further, "I've waited five years." It's the only thing she wants to say. So she takes Libby's unwilling hand in hers and stomps the three blocks back to her car.

Actually, it's more stomps her feet until she makes it to the sidewalk and then pretty much limps the rest of the way. Stupid, stupid, prettiful heels. It's disgusting how much of a fashion slave she's become. Carly's probably laughing down at her at how much of a female she's become.

_Carly._

"Mommy?" Libby asks tentatively from the back seat, unusually timid. "Is that what gramma meant when she said you used to be wild?"

Sam grits her teeth and tightens her grip on the steering wheel as she turns into the supermarket parking lot. Libby, for all her 'Me! Me! Me!' attitude, is astute enough to realize that momma is in a bad mood and remains obedient for the rest of the trip, only asking to buy a few things and not the one hundred other things she usually begs Sam to put in the shopping cart.

It's only after her fridge and cabinets are weighed down with food does she begin to feel better. In fact she pops in the Girly Cow DVD without launching into negotiations for an improved morning disposition the following days. Instead she sits down with a plate of ham and presses one of the numbers on her mobile's speed dial.

"Hey, Sam!" Spencer greets her cheerfully.

"Spencer," she begins, through a mouthful of pork, "please tell me I don't have to kill your wife."

"Don't kill my wife?" he answers automatically and then, after a pause, adds, "Please?"

"Let me rephrase: stupid Freddie Benson."

She can hear the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line followed by some muffled conversation and then finally Spencer's sudden awkward laugh. "Freddie? What about Freddie?" he stammers. "I don't know what you're talking about. Hey, you know what I do know about? Cheese. Let's talk about that."

"Lemme talk to April, Spencer."

"I don't think—"

Sam groans. Honestly. She just needs someone to tell her something that makes sense. Today, if possible. "Just let me talk to her. I promise not to kill her after."

A moment later and the phone changes hands and April Shay's voice is in her ear. "Sam! So nice to hear from you today! How was Libby's first day."

"It went all right. She made a new best friend today," she replies, deceptively calm. "The cutest little boy I've ever seen. Oh, and he's related to you, too. Yeah, he's your _nephew_. And then I had the pleasure of seeing his _father_."

"Sam," April chokes out. "I wanted to tell you but we decided to just let things run it's natural course and... Okay, no one really had the guts to tell you. We tried bribing Gibby but he says he still has trauma from when you were teenagers and we even asked Socko but—"

"I'm not mad."

There's a short pause. And then, "You're not?"

"I'm not mad," Sam insists and sighs as she pushes away her now empty plate. "I was just surprised. I wasn't prepared. Although, even if someone told me, I doubt I'd be prepared even then. I mean, it's been five years, you know?"

"Five years is a long time," April murmurs in agreement. "A lot of things can happen in five years."

"Yeah. Life happened."

* * *

><p>It's finally Friday and Sam's walking back to her car after dropping Libby off at her classroom. Yes, dropping her off at her classroom. In fact, Libby insists that Sam enter the room and proudly gives her a tour of <em>every single thing<em> that the kindergartner can think to point out. Miss Young doesn't seem to mind so far but Sam's giving her another couple of weeks. Actually, she's giving herself another couple of weeks, too.

Mornings are for sweats. Sweat pants and sweat shirts and sweaty shoes that are disgusting and should really be thrown out.

Mornings are not for Sam to put on makeup and fix her hair into some semblance of order. But it's for her daughter and Libby's always a good reason to be doing something.

She's juggling her mobile and her Skybucks tumbler while trying to fish her car keys out of her purse. It's a daunting task but it must be done. She can feel the key ring slide triumphantly onto her pinky finger when someone suddenly taps her on her shoulder. A startled yelp escapes her lips and of course she _has _to drop her phone and her tumbler, too. She manages to catch her phone but the tumbler takes an ugly, well, tumble that loosens the lid and empties her wakey-wakey juice all over the sidewalk.

"I'm so sorry."

It's really too early to get into anything with anyone so she just bends over without complaint and reaches for her tumbler. It doesn't look broken at first glance but it is, indeed without her much needed caffeine. "It's all right," she mutters. And really it's too early to be genuinely polite either. She looks over her shoulder and—

_Freddie Benson_. Her eyes narrow. Except he's not really looking at her. Not at her face at least.

"Holy shi-_chiz_, Freddie!" she exclaims, turning on her heel to fix him with her evil glare. "Were you _checking me out_? Or a better question: Do you want to _die_?"

"Whoa, hold up." He has his hands up and he's backing away. As if that will save him. Honestly, she's never been so annoyed at the sight of a person. And that's including her ex-husband. "I wasn't checking you out. I mean, I was checking you. Not _out_. Just, you know, making sure you're okay... and stuff."

Same old Freddie Benson. Still a stammering nub.

Sam rolls her eyes as she digs through her purse again for that elusive key chain. She feels his eyes on her, expectant eyes, eyes expecting her to say something. Huffing a little, she manages to fix him with another glare before finally fishing out her keys.

Probably sensing that she's planning on leaving without saying anything else, he finally speaks up. "Sam, we need to talk."

That's _it._

"We should have talked five years ago," she says simply, before she skirts around the car to the car door. She would have made it too except Freddie's hand is on her elbow, gentle but very firm.

"I wasn't ready, Sam," he explains quietly. "I was in a lot of pain and—"

"I was in pain, too, Freddie." She whirls around and her tumbler almost escapes from her hold once again. "I miss her, too. I loved her, too. It wasn't just you who lost her. And then I lost you, too. You know what that's like? I lost my two best friends. I kept in touch with everyone. Spencer, Gibby and even Brad... because we needed each other."

His eyes are downcast as he shakes his head. "I know and I'm sorry. But... seeing you... It was hard, Sam. I see you and I remember Carly and it _hurt_."

She tries to take it all in but she can't. She can't. Because in her head, it's been _five years_ and one explanation after all that time isn't going to make things all right. She's not even sure that three hundred plates of ham would do it and if ham can't solve a problem, what can?

"I needed you, Freddie. I needed you most of all." This time, when Sam walks over to the door of her car, he doesn't stop her. For some reason, she's a bit miffed. She needs the effort from him, needs him to try harder, needs for him not to give up so quickly. So she throws him a bone. "Listen..."

"What?"

She sighs as she unlocks her door, deposits her purse in the backseat before sliding in and lowers the passenger window so she can talk to him. "Another second and I'll be running late... But, I'm not really angry person anymore. Well, I'm still kinda angry; I mean, single mother with a crap ex-husband! Hello!" It's such a lame joke that it makes her feel sort of dirty. "I don't need to hold grudges and I don't need to give you a reason to start holding one, too, you know?"

He bends down, his hand on the roof of her car as he peers through the window. It's only now that she's calm does she get a really good look at him. Five years hasn't changed him too much. However, the sparkle in his eyes is gone and it's been replaced with a tiredness and dullness that isn't at all familiar. "What are you saying, Puckett?"

"Come over tomorrow for lunch," she tells him and takes a pen and pad paper from her glove compartment. She quickly scribbles down her address and hands it to his noticeably eager hand. "Bring Nate. The kids can play or something."

He glances briefly at the paper in his hand before giving Sam what she can only describe as a grateful smile. "Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate this." A brief wave and he starts walking away.

It takes a moment more for Sam to realize that the second has long passed and running late is now here.

After some mad driving through Seattle traffic and what was possibly the most boring meeting of the century, the fact that Freddie Benson and Sam Puckett are going to have lunch tomorrow has finally sunk in. Lunch for the first time in five years.

"Dani!" she hisses once the writers have been dismissed. Sam grabs hold of the redhead and steers her to her office. Entirely unnecessary, but I lock the door behind me. "I need your help!"

Dani's already sitting on Sam's cushy office chair by the time she turns around, her friend swiveling the chair like a six-year-old on a sugar high. "What's up, Puckett?"

"You remember Freddie, right?"

Dani places both of her hands on Sam's desk to stop the chair from moving further. "Freddie? With the gorgeous head of hair and the luscious ass? Married your friend who passed away five years ago and haven't seen him since then? Until Monday came and suddenly your daughter is best friends with his son?"

"Huh." Sam shakes her head and flops down on the sofa at the other end of the room. She rolls onto her stomach, her face mushed up against one of the throw pillows. "I guess I won't ever doubt if you're listening to me. Anyway, little-miss-married-with-three-kids, I ran into him again at Libby's school and—"

"Aaaand?"

Turning her head, she sees Dani's leaning over her desk, eyes all alight with anticipation and has to roll her eyes. "And I decided to bury the hatchet..."

"Wait... You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Seriously, Dani?" Sighing, Sam flipped over onto her back and threw an arm over her eyes. "I did the opposite of kill him; I invited him to lunch."

"Lunch? _Lunch_? Oh, the horrors! Lunch! How could you even—_lunch_, Sam? Lunch? What a despicable human being you are, Samantha. I can't even look at you right now. You disgust me." Sam takes a peek and sees Dani flailing her arms in the air. She can _really_ get into it when she wants to. "_Lunch_... I want no part in this, do you hear? _No part_. Oh that, poor man. Poor, poor man..."

"Are you done?"

Dani holds her hand up and closes her eyes. "You are a dear, dear friend Sam, but I cannot abide by this _lunch_. I beg you, please rethink this. Before it is too late. Think of your daughter! What will she think about her mother and this lunch..." And with that last line, she drops her hand and gives Sam a cheeky grin. "Done now! So what's the big deal with the lunch? It's just lunch."

"Oh it's just lunch? I thought it was a Shakespearean play from how you went on."

"I always wanted to be an actress," Dani says with a dreamy sigh. "Anyway, I don't see what you're stressing about. You know how to cook so I know that you're not worried about that. Don't tell me you want fashion advice or I will push you out the window. And please don't tell me that you're nervous because this is the first time in how many years that you're going to have a meal together at your home which he's never seen and may actually have a conversation about your lives. Because, that sounds pretty far-fetched."

"Stop being so sarcastic!" At this point, Sam has managed to kick off both her shoes and curl into a smallish ball. "And yes, I am nervous."

"It's lunch! What can go wrong?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Finally updated! I struggled if I should play around with the points of view and change between characters (the first draft was initially done in the POV of Nate) but I think I might save the kiddie POVs for the following chapters. I needed this chapter to be more about Sam and Freddie, to get a feel of what I'm working with.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed this story and my other stories! Apologies if I've been neglectful in replying to them. I did respond to some but there are others that I've missed. But I've loved them all :) Again, thank you!

Okay, as is usually the case when I start writing, I have no idea where this is going. Except that Sam and Freddie will end up together. This will not be an overly long story. Plotting is not a strong suit and I've always disliked stories that go "and then _this_ happens, but person D appears and sabotages plan Q and so they have to go here to find the magic key, except it won't work without the witch doctor's chant, and don't get me started about the map"... You get what I mean. I don't see this making it beyond ten chapters. Actually, making it beyond eight chapters would be a miracle. So yeah.

Btw, last chapter's title is from the Carpenter's song of the same name. Now, without the use of Google, can anyone tell me what song this chapter's title is from?


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